But
he had plenty to think about. At last the door in the wall opened and
Mrs. Bread stood there, with one hand on the latch and the other holding
out a scrap of white paper, folded small. In a moment he was master of
it, and it had passed into his waistcoat pocket. "Come and see me in
Paris," he said; "we are to settle your future, you know; and I will
translate poor M. de Bellegarde's French to you." Never had he felt so
grateful as at this moment for M. Nioche's instructions.
Mrs. Bread's dull eyes had followed the disappearance of the paper, and
she gave a heavy sigh. "Well, you have done what you would with me, sir,
and I suppose you will do it again. You MUST take care of me now. You
are a terribly positive gentleman."
"Just now," said Newman, "I'm a terribly impatient gentleman!" And he
bade her good-night and walked rapidly back to the inn. He ordered his
vehicle to be prepared for his return to Poitiers, and then he shut
the door of the common salle and strode toward the solitary lamp on the
chimney-piece. He pulled out the paper and quickly unfolded it. It was
covered with pencil-marks, which at first, in the feeble light, seemed
indistinct. But Newman's fierce curiosity forced a meaning from the
tremulous signs. The English of them was as follows:--
"My wife has tried to kill me, and she has done it; I am dying, dying
horribly.
Pages:
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479